Before Watchmen: Dollar Bill
by MisterGutsy
Summary: Bill Brady, he was Dollar Bill in the Minutemen. That's all we've known but what happened...before? Adapted from the comic of the same name.


"_Your life is a result of the choices you make. If you don't like your choices, it is time to start making better choices._"- Unknown.

I was planning to label this a cautionary tale, but it's the story of my life, so how could I?

My name is Benjamin Brady. Suffice it to say I was born under utterly ordinary circumstances on July 4th, 1917 in a small farming town in the middle of Nebraska, but the twists and turns my life took from there…

Well, that's a whole other story.

Throughout grade school, I suffered the torments of any other kid my age—but in high school, I blossomed.

There wasn't a sport I couldn't play, let alone play well. I quickly became a local legend. To my parent's overwhelming joy, my scholarship to college was virtually assured. In fact I had my _choice_ of schools.

I chose Darmouth, the "Big Green", because of its extensive sports program and I couldn't have been happier.

I excelled at everything I put my hand to—everything that is, except my studies.

All of that changed during the final game of the 1938 season. We were taking on the Horned Frogs of Texas Christian University. The last game of football that would determine us as champions, the stadium was full of both people and encouraging yells.

There even several pro recruiting scouts at the game, specifically there to check me out…

It happened late in the fourth quarter. I ran as fast as a roadrunner, speeding past every player from the opposing team, that winning pass was in my hands—when disaster struck out of left field.

I never even saw him coming, only felt him as the hit me with the force of a full-on freight train. I never even managed to catch the ball; the only thing I could comprehend was pain coming from both of my legs. I turned down and saw him, an unseen Horned Frog.

I could feel my knee going out even before I hit the turf, and I knew it was over…

Despite our otherwise winning season, with me benched, Dartmouth declined the invitation to play in the Rose Bowl…

After the game the team doc confirmed what I already knew in my heart… my football career was over. I'd never play sports again.

As they carried me from the field, I watched the talent scouts shake their heads sadly, then turn to leave. They never even bothered speaking to me.

I think that probably hurt most of all.

With considerable help from my friends, I barely managed a high enough grade average to graduate the following spring…

I promptly moved to a small Manhattan apartment building to try and figure out what to do next with my life. Almost every want ad I looked at required skills I didn't have…

I was starting to think I'd have to give up and move back to Nebraska when one particular ad caught my eye…

A new Broadway revue was casting for kids in the chorus. I'd never tried singing or dancing before, but all the girls back in school had repeatedly told me I had movie star looks.

So I figured, what the heck… it was certainly worth the try. If this worked as I imagined, the sky would be my limit.

Putting on my best cheap suit, I headed for the Rialto Theatre to give Clark Gable a run for his money. I waited in a large line for quite a while before being called into a luxurious stage full of colorful red seats.

"All right already, NEXT!", a fat man in a suit was yelling from the front row. There was an aging woman that sat next to him, holding a clipboard.

"I haven't got all day here, y' know. Time is money," said the man. I was nervous of course, but I sucked it all in and headed for the stage confidently.

"Well, ya got the looks, kid. I'll give you that. Now impress me. I've seen a lot 'a loxes today. Make me proud."

"My name's Bill Brady sir. I'll do my best." I told him. He gave a snort.

"For the sake of my poor Ulcer, please do."

I held my breath and hit the stage. I'd spent the whole last day listening to the same record over and over. I figured I had the act down pat by now. So I exhaled slowly and gave it my all. I dance all around the stage, arms extending, legs moving in ways they'd never moved before. I worked like I'd never worked before—but in the end…

"Oy! I have got to get inta some other line 'a work. Tell ya what kid, don't even bother leaving your resume. Oh and for the love of God, don't call us. We'll call you. NEXT!" he said sadly.

I spent the next several days lying around my apartment, feeling sorry for myself, and spending what little money I'd put away on as much beer as I could handle…

Okay, I figured, so Broadway is out, but I still had my looks. I guessed I could always try Hollywood. But where was I supposed to put the money together to buy a train ticket?

I had to find some kind of job…bellboy…dishwasher…whatever…just until I had enough cash to buy that ticket. I decided to clench my teeth and take what I had, but then an ad in the newspaper caught my eye.

"Hey what's this?", I snatched the newspaper from the floor and held it up, "A job that requires only my good looks? Thank you Lord, for small favors."

So the very next morning I put on my cheap suit again and headed to the address listed in the paper. I eventually found myself at the Rockefeller building.

"Holy Smokes! This place looks like the Waldorf and Roseland all rolled into one. Sure hope I've got the right address," I thought.

I entered the building, heading for the elevator when I heard a woman's voice.

"Ah, another poor victim," she spoke, "Heading up to the 37th floor I'm guessing?"

"Yes. How'd you know?" I asked.

"You're the 14th guy today."

As I rode up the elevator, clutching the ad as tightly as a baseball bat, I wondered what I was getting into… I arrived at the 37th floor to a man's angry voice.

"You guys nuts or what? No sane man would ever wear that crazy outfit. It'd make me look like some kind of fag." He said.

"Say what?" I thought.

"An to think I passed up a date with Miss Sylvania for this gig. Ain't livin that down anytime soon." He said. He walked straight past me and directly into the elevator. I hesitated going into the room….seriously considered getting back into the elevator. But before I could move:

"Ahhh! Our next candidate! Come in m'boy, come in!" rang out a short voice. A tiny man came up to me and grabbed my hand, dragging me into the room. He was dressed in a crisp suit, his black hair lied neatly on his head. We entered a meeting room where there were 3 gentlemen who looked exactly like him.

"Fellas I want you to meet Mr…"

"Brady. Bill Brady," I answered.

"Hey perfect name, right?", said the man next to me, "This is our guy, I can feel it in my bones."

"Says you Abie." Said a man sitting at the end of the table.

"Billy Boy, let me introduce Misters Howe, Cheatem, and Dewey. They're representing National Bank in this little enterprise," said Abie.

"I've lost count of how many pretty boys we've seen." Said Chetem.

"Why should we believe this one will work out?" asked Dewey.

"Well for one thing, I'm still here, unlike that last guy you interviewed." I replied.

"Yeah there is one aspect of the promotion we're planning that seems to put some people off," said Abie.

"And that would be?" I asked nervously.

"Sheila, bring it out and show the man!" yelled Abie. A redhead in a showgirl costume entered the room carrying some kind of mannequin that was covered by a sheet. She pulled off the sheet and my jaw almost dropped. Abie seemed to take my astonishment into a form of admiration…

"Isn't it just to die for? We call him _Dollar Bill_. We're planning to introduce him as National Bank's new crime fighting spokesman," said Abie proudly, "And you, my boy, would fit the suit perfectly."

My astonishment wore away and common sense returned.

"Oh, c'mon. You can't possibly be serious." I said, "I don't know any straight guy in his right mind who would ever wear that outfit. It looks like somebody vomited up the American flag."

The outfit was something. Bright blue, white, and red. It sported a dollar sign in the middle and an overlarge red cape.

"We put a lot of effort into designing that outfit, son. Test audiences just love it," said Howe.

"Well can you at least get rid of the _cape_? It's bound to restrict my movements." I told them.

"Cape was the part they liked best. It stays." Said Dewey, "Besides, have you seen the papers lately? There's a costumed vigilante running around in bare arms and legs. Ain't nobody call him a queer."

"And there's more of these nutjobs going public every day. We'd have to be nuts _ourselves_ to not cash in on the craze." Said Cheatem.

"So what exactly is the point of all this? I mean what is you expect me to do?" I asked them.

"As official spokesman for the National Bank Company, we expect you to make Dollar Bill as familiar name as, say, Uncle Sam." Said Abie.

"And you want me to all this without making an absolute fool of myself?"

"Guess that all depends on how good of an actor. So, kid, whaddya say?" Abie asked me excitedly.

For a moment, I just stood there, biting my lip, considering my options. And in the end I came to realize…

I didn't really have any options.

So I put on the suit right there and turned towards them.

"Congratulations, gentlemen… it appears you've found your man. Say hello to Dollar Bill!"

Within weeks, my (that is Dollar Bill's) image adorned the front of every National Bank Branch in the state. And his legend had already begun to grow.

"Next please!" said the teller, a man dressed in a suit and a fedora stepped forward.

"Welcome to the National Bank, the only bank where your money is protected by the incredible Dollar Bill." The teller said happily, "And how may we help you this fine morning?"

"Ya can hand over all yer cash, sister and you better be quick about it, before my boys and me turn you into swiss cheese!" the man said. He pulled out a handgun and aimed it at the teller, numerous other men did so as well.

"Y-y-yes, sir. Whatever you- oh thank the stars! He's here." The teller said in a relived voice.

"Who's here?" the crook asked. I tapped him on the shoulder.

"Check the statue over the door, punk… the name is Dollar Bill!"

I punched him as hard as I could and he flew across a few people, landing on a couple of his own men a few feet away.

"Hey! Watch- Aaagghh!" he flew into them painfully and they let out a short spray of bullets.

"Wh-what is that guy?!"

I picked up a small metallic safe and brought it over my head, lifting it up with all of my strength.

"I am the official defender of the National Bank Chain! The man with the plan, the hero against zeroes!"

They fired multiple bullets at me which all missed, a few of them hit the safe above me, and one even tore a hole in my cape. I flung the safe at them.

"Threaten even one dime of our depositors' precious savings and you'll have to deal with me!"

The safe hit them with full force, knocking them all down. They groaned.

"Get the point, punks?" I asked, walking over to them slowly. I gripped one of the robbers by his shirt and lifted him up into the air.

"If you're ever foolish enough to even try robbing a National Bank, you're going to have to face the power… of Dollar Bill!" I yelled triumphantly.

"CUT!", rang out a voice. I lowered the man and took off the mask, sweat pouring down my face. Immediately the goons on the floor got up and brushed themselves off, numerous people picked up the props and started to move them away. The director approached me.

"Boy, that scene strained muscles I didn't even know I had." I told him.

"Gives you new respect for the real costume crazies, don't it?", he said, "You're doing a great job, kiddo."

"We're proud of you, Bill!" said Abie. Abie, Howe, Cheatem and Dewey were all sitting on identical director's chairs.

"Frankly you've exceeded expectations." Said Howey.

"You're a natural at this, m'boy." Said Cheatem.

"But don't get a swelled head," said Dewey, "You're no Mickey Rooney, y'know."

"Something I can do for you gentlemen?" I asked.

"As a matter of fact, there is.", Abie showed me an ad in the newspaper. "Have you seen today's newspaper, son?"

I took the newspaper from his hand and read the large ad that he was showing me:

_The Call Goes Out!_

ATTENTION:

ALL MEN OF MYSTERY, MASKED ADVENTURERS AND COSTUMED CRIMEFIGHTERS

CAPTAIN METROPOLIS AND SILK SPECTRE

WANT YOU!

_For a new group of Americans dedicated to the war on crime. Apply by responding to the address below:_

_1700 Riverside Drive. New York, NY._

"We want you to answer this ad." Said Dewey.

"You do remember I'm only an actor, right? Not a real crime fighter."

"Precisely. We just want you to go out and _act_ like a real crime-fighter." He said.

"Y-you can't possibly be serious.", I said incredibly, "Frankly, you fellas aren't paying me enough for this."

"Actually this is precisely what we're paying you for. Trust me, you can't _buy _this kind of publicity.", said Dewey.

"But we're talking real crime-fighting here-against real criminals-using real guns with real bullets." I said nervously.

"What are you, five kinds of crazy? It's all just flash and mirrors, no different than what you're doing now. Who in their right mind would put themselves in that kind of danger for real? Trust me, Billy Boy- it's as safe as houses." Explained Abie.

"Well…if you say so…", I said slowly.

"Would we lie to you Bill?" asked Abie. They all got up and marched in a line, they left the set.

"Go. Have a good time. Let us know how it works out." Said Abie as he left out the door.

The following night, I drove a borrowed car to the abandoned Malting Factory on the banks of the Hudson. That was the address listed in the newspaper ad…

If it was a crime-fighting headquarters, it was certainly impressive enough-but then, I was still living in a one-room, four story walk up. I continued to think that my employers were crazy but still, they were paying the bills, so…

As I entered the old wire-cage elevator, I briefly wondered if these real heroes had seen any of my ads in their local theatres, or if they would look at me like the poser I felt I was. Walking into the waiting room, I quickly realized…

…I had been worrying for nothing.

There was a long line of people dressed up in ridiculous outfits. Someone dressed up as a frog, a female as Lady Liberty, another dressed up as a knight, some guy in a Robin Hood outfit , a hula dancer and some guy dressed up as some kind of butterfly or moth.

"You're all here to try out?" I asked.

"Just get in line, buster and wait your turn." Said the man dressed up as Robin Hood.

"Ignore him, cutie. Come stand up here by me." Said Lady Liberty.

"Forget it, buster. No cutting in line," said Robin Hood.

"It's okay. I'm more than willing to wait my turn." I told them all. I got in line behind the Hula Dancer, she turned to me.

"But I recognize you from the movies. You're a real celebrity. Why are you even waiting in line?" she asked.

"Because everyone deserves their fair chance." I said, everyone turned to me. I could see that they were expecting some kind of speech, so I went ahead.

"Under this outfit, I'm just a working joe like the rest of you. Trying to do my bit to make this country a safer, more whole-some place. Isn't that why the rest of you are here?"

PART 2 COMING SOON.


End file.
